Like a Riot, Oh! This Love's for Gentleman Only
by PenPistola
Summary: They've just pulled off the near-impossible—of course they're going to celebrate.


**Title:** Like a Riot, Oh! (This Love's for Gentlemen Only)  
**Pairing:** Arthur/Eames  
**Word Count:** 1651 ( lies!)  
**Rating:** R  
**Summary:** They've just pulled off the near-impossible—of course they're going to celebrate. PWP.  
**A/N: **First kink meme fill and first Inception fic.

It starts in back of the cab as they pull away from LAX, mere minutes after finishing the Fischer job. Eames is still wired from the adrenaline of it as he slides his hand over Arthur's on the seat next to them. The point man stares at their hands for a moment and looks up, questioning. He finds his answer in Eames' unflinching dark gray eyes and feels a thrill run through him. Arthur nods almost imperceptibly and Eames shifts in his seat, pointedly averting his gaze.

In a couple of minutes they're parked in front of the hotel that Arthur has already booked himself a room in, and they drag their meager luggage onto the curb. Arthur pays and tips the cabbie generously—he can afford to now. Eames follows Arthur to the front desk for the room key, too unfocused to be impressed with the lobby's opulence. They're in a room on the 23rd floor and Eames snags Arthur's jacket once he's done with the clerk, dragging the other man toward the elevator.

"Christ," Arthur grins as the doors slide shut. "Someone's a little anxious."

"You have no idea," says Eames as he slams the lighter man into the elevator wall and begins trailing kisses up his jaw. "I spent so much time being _good_ around Cobb and Ariadne and Saito and bloody Yusuf. I had to pretend not to be excited when Cobb told me we'd be working together again." He insinuates a knee between Arthur's leg and grinds, and is rewarded when Arthur lets out a little gasp. "Not anymore," Eames grins against Arthur's skin.

Something snaps in Arthur and he pushes Eames away to shrug off his jacket. Swearing, he unbuttons his vest with one hand, working on Eames' shirt with the other. "Ngh," he says, and his eloquence astounds him.

"So it's not just me," Eames cackles in mingled amusement and arousal. He peels the vest off Arthur's shoulders and uses the man's tie to draw him in for a deep, wet kiss. Arthur is moaning into his mouth as the elevator doors ding and slide open again, but they take their time to finish the kiss before picking up their bags to exit. Eames is positively thrumming with need as he steals a hasty glance around the corner. "No one here," he assures Arthur and they dash toward their room, mussed and half-unbuttoned. Arthur nearly drops the key as he's sliding it into the lock, but eventually he gets it and then they're tumbling into the room.

"Fuck," Arthur breathes as he tosses his bags in the corner unceremoniously. Eames finishes stripping off his shirt, revealing his muscular arms and the familiar patterns of ink that Arthur has licked his way up so many times before. They come together like magnets, hips grinding and hands pawing through hair, over tightly wound muscle, squeezing and stroking. The friction is good, but it's not enough.

"Not working," Eames grunts and backs away. His cock is throbbing so hard that his vision's going black around the corners, and fuck fuck _fuck_ he can't get his pants down fast enough. Eames fumbles wildly with the belt buckle for a moment and finally (finally!) gets it undone. He rips it from his belt loops and tosses it down somewhere, tugging his slacks down over his hips. Arthur drops to his knees then, sliding his fingers under the waistband of Eames' briefs and planting his mouth over the outline of Eames' cock. Eames' eyes roll back in his head and he groans, threading his fingers through Arthur's hair as the other man's wet mouth moves over the bulge in his briefs. He feels a shudder run through him and pushes Arthur away by the shoulders. "That's... that's working a bit too well, darling." Arthur rolls his eyes and climbs back to his feet, tugging down on Eames' briefs instead. His cock springs free and he lets out a shuddering sigh—though it's cut off when Arthur's mouth slams against his, knocking the breath from him. Arthur is fierce and hungry, all tongue and teeth, not that Eames minds. On the contrary, he's kissing back, just as hard, his hands blindly seeking out Arthur's tie, tearing it loose and ripping out the shirt buttons below it. Arthur is too far gone to even care, reaching down to help, and between them they have Arthur's shirt off in a matter of seconds. All that's left are Arthur's pants and he breaks the kiss, leaving Eames whining deep in his throat to take care of them. He kicks them off next to Eames', wrinkles be damned. Eames falls back on the edge of the bed, naked and spread-eagled, staring up at Arthur's exposed cock with his lips parted and hair mussed and Arthur can't help it; he practically dives on top of him. There's a brief tangle of limbs, and then Arthur is on his knees and one hand over Eames, using the other to grip and stroke both their cocks at once.

"A-Arthur, _please_," Eames manages between gasps of pleasure and desperation. "Come on, love, I need you. Need..."

Arthur growls and it rumbles through his chest and into Eames and goes straight to his cock. Eames' eyes slam closed and his mouth falls open and _fuck_, who is Arthur to argue? Arthur scrambles off the bed to Eames' pants, shoving his hands frantically into pocket after pocket until he finds it—Eames' emergency lube. He rips open the condom-sized packet with his teeth and launches himself back at the bed. Eames is writhing in front of him as he squirts the stuff into his hand and begins desperately stroking his cock with it, little huffs of breath the only sound he makes.

"Please," Eames says again, practically moans, and fuck it. Arthur doesn't have time to prepare Eames, doesn't have the will, so he throws the other man's knees over his shoulders, positions the head of his cock at his entrance and just pushes. Eames gasps a little, baring his teeth, but his body takes Arthur inch by inch until he's buried completely and they're both moaning in time to the throbbing of Arthur's cock. Arthur stills for a moment, afraid to move lest he come all at once, and instead uses a hand to brush a few tendrils of Eames' hair away from his forehead. The other man's eyes flutter open, all dark with lust, and Arthur has no choice but to lean down and kiss him. Their tongues intertwine as Arthur begins to move within him, slow at first, painfully slow. Eames whines again into Arthur's mouth, shifting himself in attempt to meet Arthur's languid thrusts, and like that, Arthur's control is broken. "Mmph," Eames gasps into him as Arthur picks up speed, fucking him furiously until his balls are slapping against Eames' ass. Arthur pulls away from Eames' mouth, his eyes closed and his head lolling back as he slams in again and again. Eames' hands begin to wander, despite the punishment, one reaching down to tug at his own cock and the other scrabbling fruitlessly for purchase against the slick skin of Arthur's back. Arthur leans into him until his hair brushes down against the pillow he's fucking Eames into—they hadn't even pulled off the duvet, he realizes stupidly—as his balls begin to tighten.

"Eames, _fuck_," he spits out.

Eames is beyond words; the angle of Arthur's thrusts has him ramming repeatedly into his prostate. Eames' mouth hangs open, incoherent curses spilling out of it as finally he tenses around Arthur, the thrusts into his prostate and the action of his fist around his own cock too much for him. His limbs twitch and jerk as a heady moan rips from his throat, a half-strangled "Arthur" and then he's coming, _hard_, all over his own stomach. Arthur is only seconds behind, his thrusts gone erratic and wild and his forehead buried against Eames' shoulder. Eames' hands move to thread through his hair and then suddenly Arthur's coming too, from the tips of his toes through his gut and up to his brain, where his vision goes starry.

"Aah!" he gasps, shuddering atop Eames, every inch of his body tingling as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm. He manages to pull out and move over a few inches before collapsing bonelessly beside the larger man. He flips over on his back, eyes gazing up at the ceiling as their breathing slows down and their bodies cool. Eames is silent for once, content to just lie there smirking next to him for a moment before reaching over to the night stand for a tissue and giving himself a cursory wipedown. Then he scoots up toward the pillow, dragging Arthur with him, and together they slide under the covers, Arthur spooned against Eames' back. It feels nice, Arthur thinks, and it's not long before exhaustion creeps through his spent limbs and he's dozing quietly with his arm around his lover.

Perhaps an hour later, the door clicks quietly. Arthur, the point man that he is, rouses instantly from his shallow sleep, eyes wide. And realizes that he's quite uncharacteristically managed to forget the 'Do Not Disturb' door hanger. He turns over just enough to look over his shoulder and see the maid standing shocked in the doorway. Their clothes are scattered on the floor in a rumpled mess and there they are, two men cuddling in a bed and looking thoroughly fucked. Arthur can't even muster the effort to be embarrassed. He just shoots her a lazy, contented smile, like, '_Yeah, what of it_?' and she retreats slowly back through the door.

"Wazzat?" Eames murmurs when she's gone, stirring against Arthur's chest.

Arthur presses his lips to the skin just behind Eames' ear and whispers, "Nothing, love."

Eames blinks at him, a slow smile growing to match Arthur's own, and they fall asleep again holding hands.


End file.
